


Confronting whispers

by Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge



Series: Sam and Jack (AKA: the Jam Fam) [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Blood, Feel free to suggest alternate titles, Gen, I had no idea what to call this fic, Jack is an innocent puppy, Jam Fam, Sam is the best dad, Sam’s powers, Those two are the absolute best, Why are there not more Jam Fam fics?, dean critical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 08:26:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16155311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge/pseuds/Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge
Summary: On the way to Madison and his quest to prove to Dean that he is one of the "good guys," Jack finds his mind turning to a few of the things he's heard Sam say. And he just has to know: where does demon blood fit into all of this?





	Confronting whispers

**Author's Note:**

> I remain eternally in love with Sam and Jack's dynamic. (And eternally bitter of Dean's treatment of my favourite nephilim- you have been warned. Though I don’t think this particular fic is *terribly* critical, as that’s not the focus.) And thus, in the interest of letting Jack actually question a few more of the things he's heard (because, really, how on earth did the show not make him more curious about overhearing that Sam had *drunk demon blood?!?*), this fic was born. I really hope you like it and, as always, feel free to leave a few words letting me know what you think. ^_^

Jack tried not to talk too much in the car. He answered any questions thrown his way, of course- Sam’s occasional attempts at lightening the general atmosphere falling inevitably flat every time- but, overall, he found it easier to just keep quiet and try to blend into the background. Until they arrived and an opportunity arose in which he could prove that he could be one of the “good guys,” after all, he figured it would be best for him to stay off of Dean’s radar as much as possible.

Staying so silent, however, meant that there was plenty of time for his mind to wander to all sorts of places. And, with the ‘can-opener’ situation now resolved, and with Sam’s profile being the only one he dared to stare at for longer than just a few seconds at a time, perhaps it was inevitable that, in the end, it wandered to the _other_ puzzle which had sprung up over the course of his time with the Winchesters.

_‘I know what it feels like, to feel like you don’t belong. To feel like there’s this darkness inside of you. To be scared of who you are, what you can do.’_

He’d been so relieved at the time- so freed by the knowledge that he didn’t have to try and force things with his powers anymore- that he’d sort of just let those words slip right past him. Assumed them to be empty platitudes. But now…

 _‘When_ I _was the freak. When I was drinking Demon blood.’_

What did that even mean? Why would nice, patient, comforting _Sam_ have been called a freak? What reason could he ever have had to feel scared of himself? And what was that whole Demon blood thing about?

The mystery plagued Jack’s thoughts for hours, carrying him through two whole pit stops and several hundred miles of road before finally, when they’d just passed the bathroom key back to the clerk at their third stop and were heading back to the car (Dean staying behind to wander the aisles and pick up some more ‘fuel’ for the journey), he found his resolve.

“Sam? Can I ask you something?”

“Hm? Oh, sure. What d’you wanna know?”

“What did you mean? When you said you drank Demon blood?”

It was a couple of seconds before Jack realised that Sam was no longer by his side. Turning in confusion, he found the Hunter standing a few steps back, his mouth slightly open and his blinks timed to an irregular beat.

“What? Where did you-?”

“In that conversation you had with Dean. Before the c- the can-opener stuff.” Heat spread uncomfortably along the back of his neck, but it seemed Jack’s transgressions in eavesdropping were the last thing on Sam’s mind, as he glanced briefly back at the store before swiftly continuing along their former path, Jack falling into step just behind.

“Right. Of course. Listen, Jack, I’m… I’m not sure now is the best time for us to get into this, exactly. Would you mind if we put a pin in it? Just for a while- until we have a bit more time to talk?”

“I… I don’t have a pin.”

The laugh Jack heard in return was an almost jarring blend of surprise and nostalgic sorrow. “Right. Sorry. ‘Put a pin in it’ is just a phrase. It means agreeing to come back to a topic later. Does that sound good?”

Not sure what to make of the vaguely strained edge to Sam’s tone, Jack merely nodded as they arrived back at the impala. “Okay. We can… put a pin in it.”

\-----

The rest of the car ride passed in much the same way (though Jack thought he might have spotted Sam’s expression drifting towards the pensive side a couple of times- just for the barest fraction of a moment-when he appeared to be studying the passing scenery), and they made it to Madison without any more stops, Dean driving them straight to a motel to book a room and deposit their bags before they set out once more to search for some “greasy, greasy goodness, Sammy.” In fact, it wasn’t until later that night, about half an hour after Dean had left to “check out the local wildlife” that Sam gave any indication that Jack hadn’t simply _imagined_ their entire earlier conversation.

“Okay,” the older man breathed out all of a sudden, pushing aside his laptop and gesturing for Jack to come and join him at the table. “What do you want to know?”

And suddenly, after so many hours spent wondering what sorts of answers could possibly be awaiting him- mile upon mile spent hashing out the _perfect_ phrasing within his head- Jack suddenly found that he had no clue whatsoever what to say. For several seconds he simply stood, fighting the urge to fidget, before finally settling into an uncomfortable perch on the edge of the least rickety of the two available wooden chairs.

And there he sat. Hands on his knees. Silent. Until a single inquiring eyebrow-raise from Sam forced him to latch onto the first complete sentence he could cling to within his mind.

“You- did you really drink Demon blood? Like… real blood?”

“…I did.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“I…” Some dark, conflicted shadow seemed to flicker across Sam’s eyes for just a second before he closed them, appearing to shut away all indication of what haunted him. When he opened them again, though, that same pain was still there, merely tinged this time with solid resolve.

“I thought I needed to get stronger. That I needed my _powers_ to get stronger.”

_What?_

“…What?”

Sam seemed to be having trouble in meeting Jack’s eyes, but nevertheless he didn’t look away. Not even once. (And as for Jack, well… he _couldn’t_ look away. Could hardly even believe what he was hearing.) “When I was younger, I had these powers. A, uh… a demon gave them to me, back when I was a baby, but I had no clue until I was in my twenties and um… well, long story short, a whole lot of bad stuff happened and I… I just wanted to prove it, you know? That I wasn’t _evil_. That I could use… that I could use those powers to do good things. And then Dean- well, Dean wasn’t there, and this other demon- Ruby- she showed me how drinking demon blood could help me to get strong enough to do that. To send demons back to Hell. To _kill_ them, even, without risking the vessel’s life in the process.”

“So… why did you stop?” ( _And why was this the first Jack was hearing of these powers?_ ) “Saving people is a good thing, right?”

“I stopped because I… I got in too deep, really. Dean came back, and when he found out what I was doing, well…”

Jack could well imagine. “He didn’t like it.”

A self-deprecating snort was Sam’s immediate answer. “That’s putting it lightly, yeah. But… well… I refused to listen. I thought I knew better. See, there were all these people telling us about something really big which was going down, and I thought the demon blood was my only way of getting strong enough to stop it. So I ran away, went back to Ruby, did the thing and…

“…and screwed everything up.”

“How?”

This time, Sam waited for several seconds before replying, his gentle, assessing gaze scanning every inch of Jack’s face. Jack wasn’t sure what, exactly, he was looking for, but he did his best to show that ‘it’ was there. That he was ready to hear whatever this was.

In the end, though, Sam merely shook his head in return.

“Not yet.”

And that… that hurt. Despite the fact that he trusted Sam- and despite the fact he knew he was being rude by asking the older man to have this conversation in the first place- he couldn’t help but feel like he had been found _lacking_ , somehow. Deficient. And some of those feelings must have shown in his face, because Sam almost immediately leaned forward, making sure Jack couldn’t turn his gaze away.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, okay? It’s just that that’s… a lot to take in. And we don’t have much time here.”

“Oh.” Regardless of the reassurance, however, the hard lump which had suddenly settled in Jack’s chest refused to go away. He did his best to ignore it, though, putting on as understanding and mature a face as he could manage, and offered up his best attempt at a smile. “Okay.”

“I’ll tell you, I promise. If that’s what you want. Just… not now.”

“No I… I understand. We can… put a pin in it.”

“Yeah.” The smile he received in return was sad, and Jack knew he wasn’t fooling anyone, but luckily Sam decided not to say any more about it. “I won’t go into the details yet but… I can tell you that a lot of people died because of what I did. Good people. And a lot more got hurt.”

“But… I don’t understand.” This didn’t make any sense. Not with what Sam had been telling him for the _rest_ of his life. “If your powers came from a demon, and you think using them was bad, then why do you think _my_ powers won’t be the same? I mean what if I-”

“Because-” Sam cut in, breaking Jack out of the sudden spiral of panic ( _what if what if what if_ ), then casting a quick, almost anxious-looking glance towards the door (watching, Jack realised, for any sign that Dean was returning. _That_ was what Sam meant by them not having much time. It wasn’t because it was late, like Jack had assumed- it was because _Sam was scared that Dean would overhear_. But that was-) “-Dean was right about the demon blood. I was careless, and I didn’t realise how much my dependence on it was affecting me until it was too late. But-” (another glance at the door) “- I’m not… a hundred percent certain that Dean was right about the powers themselves. I had them because of a demon, yes, but I did a _lot_ of good with them. I saved a lot of people. Hell, Dean and I wouldn’t even be _alive_ right now if I hadn’t had them.

“My powers only got used for bad things because I trusted the wrong people, Jack. Because I didn’t have all the information, and I made some bad choices because of it. And it’s taken me a long time, and I’m still not sure Dean would agree- in fact I’m pretty sure he _wouldn’t_ ,” Sam admitted with a rueful twist of his lips- one which sent a hot wave of something which felt suspiciously like anger through Jack’s veins, “but I honestly think that, with better choices, my powers could have been a source for _good_ in this world, Jack.

“And I think yours could, too.”

And for one single, breath-taking moment, Jack could swear the entire world stood still. Because Sam’s belief in him- it wasn’t just some unfounded hope or a misguided and naive pipe-dream, like he knew Dean believed it to be. This was Sam learning from his own past, and _actively_ trying to make sure Jack didn’t make the same mistakes. Sam’s faith wasn’t blind- it was _deliberate_.

And yet.

“But I don’t understand.” It didn’t make _sense_. “You said you used the demon blood to make your powers _stronger_. Doesn’t that mean that you still have them?”

And there was that smile again (if it could even be called that). Small, and sad, and pained, and just a little bit _scared_. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’ve never tried to find out.”

“But _why?_ They’re a part of you, right? And if you think they could do good-”

“Dean might be able to eventually accept _your_ powers, Jack,” Sam cut in again. “If he lets himself realise that you don’t want to hurt anyone. But that doesn’t mean the same would be true for me. There’s too must of a history there. Too much to overcome. And besides, Winchesters… Winchesters aren’t supposed to be supernatural,” he finished with a barely-there shrug. “That’s the way it’s always been. All our lives. And Dean doesn’t change his mind easily when it comes to Winchester tradition.”

“But that’s not fair!” And there was that anger again- hot and raw and making him realise, for the first time, that maybe Dean’s approval of him wasn’t the be-all-and-end-all Jack had so far believed it to be on his quest to being good. Because if Dean was stubborn and short-sighted enough to believe that someone like _Sam_ deserved to be treated like they were bad just because they had powers, then he certainly didn’t have the right to be the one to decide _Jack’s_ fate. “You shouldn’t have to ignore a part of you you think could _help_ people just because _Dean_ doesn’t want to try to understand!” Sam drew back, eyebrows flying up in surprise as Jack suddenly all but slammed to his feet- free, now, to pace instead of trying to shut himself down and make himself as small as possible, the way he always felt he had to around Dean. “That’s just stupid, right? You said you’re the good guys- that you hunt monsters and save people- but what if some of those people die just because Dean doesn’t want you to use your powers to do it? It’s just… it’s just _stupid_.” And selfish. And all sorts of other things Jack didn’t even have the _words_ for right now. All he knew was that Sam was over there feeling every bit as _dirty_ and as _wrong_ and as _bad_ as he had been trying to convince Jack that _he_ wasn’t and it _Just. Wasn’t. Fair._

Before he knew it, Jack was standing in the centre of the room, chest heaving over the injustice of this whole thing, staring over at the utterly taken-aback expression on Sam’s face. The sharp burn of potential tears pricked at his eyes and, in that moment, he reached a decision.

“I’ll practice trying to control my powers again,” he promised. “As soon as we get back to the bunker. And I’ll show Dean just how useful they can be on a Hunt. I’ll make him admit it. And-” he cut himself off, feeling strangely self-conscious all of a sudden. “If you want to, you can practice at the same time.”

“Jack, I don’t-”

“Dean doesn’t even have to know that you’re the one who’s doing it!” Jack insisted. Because he was _right_. He _knew_ he was right. “Especially if we start at the same time. If the pencil moves, it’ll just look like _I’m_ the one doing it. Every time.

“Don’t you want to at least know for sure?” He added earnestly. “Don’t you want to at least be _certain_ about whether or not your powers are _really_ gone for good?”

Sam’s eyes darted once- twice- three times to the door and back. Then he glanced at the large neon clock on the wall, and let out a defeated sigh.

“Maybe we should just go to bed.”

A tsunami of disappointment rushed through Jack’s system, deflating him in an instant, and he was left standing uselessly in the middle of the room as Sam pushed himself to his feet and shuffled off to the bathroom, no longer quite meeting Jack’s pleading gaze.

\-----

Not a word more was said on the subject. Dean came back later that night, when Sam was already asleep (and Jack was pretending to be). The case continued. They met two shifters, and Jack’s powers helped save the day. Then it was back to the Bunker, and Dean came in with some tiny little line about how Jack had ‘done good’- an acknowledgement Jack no longer cared about if it didn’t help Sam in any way. And then Jack went to bed. And life continued.

…Until the next morning, when Sam came into the library and set a single pencil down on the table in front of Jack.

“No lies,” he stated firmly. “If I can still do this stuff, I want to be honest about it. Dean will just have to deal with it.”

Not knowing what else to do, Jack merely blinked stupidly back. “I thought you didn’t want to.”

Sam smiled softly, the barest hints of vulnerability slipping past his otherwise calm demeanour. “Let’s just say… I put a pin in it.”


End file.
